


saturday morning

by elisela



Series: southpaw [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Life, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29085549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela
Summary: “Hey,” Derek calls out; Stiles looks over to see him jogging across the outfield, glove in hand, grinning. “I was hoping you’d be here.”Stiles raises an eyebrow and looks at him. “You were hoping I’d be in the same spot I’ve been every godforsaken Saturday morning since February? Wow. Guess you got lucky.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: southpaw [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014576
Comments: 10
Kudos: 201
Collections: A Very Sterek Winter 2021





	saturday morning

**Author's Note:**

> For A Very Sterek Winter Day 7: winter turns to spring.

The creak of the door wakes him and as he rubs tiredly at his eyes, Stiles can hear Norah’s carefully measured footsteps coming near. “Time ‘s it?” he mumbles, blinking into the soft light of the morning, pushing himself up with one hand.

“Seven,” she says, setting a cup of coffee on Derek’s bedside table. She pushes her hair off her face and hovers by the bed, chewing on her bottom lip. “Nolan’s watching cartoons. I told him I’d make him french toast for breakfast if he was quiet.”

“Good girl,” he says around a yawn, flipping the blankets back and sliding out of bed. It’s too early, and he’s sure that means she wants something, but she was smart enough to bring coffee with her and for that he’s thankful. “Dad gone?”

“Yeah,” she says, and she leans into him briefly as he passes, squeezing an arm around her shoulders and kissing her temple. “Can you do my hair this morning? I sent you a video for how I want it. It’s not too different.”

“For the child who brings me coffee and makes breakfast? Anything,” he says, picking the cup up and pausing, looking at the crooked heart in the foam with a small smile. “You’re getting pretty good at this, Nono. Dad’s gonna have to finance your cafe soon.” 

She gives him a wide, pleased grin and turns, more energetic now that he’s out of bed and agreeable to doing her hair. He takes a drink of the coffee, holding it in his mouth for a moment to let the warmth spread through him, and grabs his phone before following her down the hallway, unlocking it and tapping on her new message to watch the video. It’s not long, thankfully, and he watches it carefully while he sips at his coffee, leaning on the vanity in her room while she brushes her hair.

Norah chatters at him while he braids her hair, careful to keep his attention on what he’s doing. She hadn’t minded the messy look so much at five, but last week she’d taken one look at the braided crown he’d done—crooked, as he’d been distracted by the crashing coming from Nolan’s room—and had pulled it right out and asked him to do it again. He’s so focused on the task that when she says, “Dad?” he startles a bit.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, knowing she had asked a question but not entirely sure what that question was. Whatever, she’s a good kid, and if he regrets it he can always make Derek say no. He ties the braid off and starts tugging at them, loosening them like he’d seen in the video until they’re mostly even on both sides. “Good?”

“Good,” she says, smiling as she twists her head side to side in the mirror. “Can I use the lip—”

“No,” he says, tugging at the end of a braid before letting it go and picking up his coffee. “No make-up until you’re a teenager.”

“But Dad—”

“Hey, other Dad made the rule, other Dad gives the exceptions,” he says, pointing at her with his cup, a yawn interrupting the end of his sentence as he backs out of the room. “And don’t start breakfast until I get downstairs.”

“Hey,” Derek calls out; Stiles looks over to see him jogging across the outfield, glove in hand, grinning. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow and looks at him. “You were hoping I’d be in the same spot I’ve been every godforsaken Saturday morning since February? Wow. Guess you got lucky.”

“Language,” Norah says, and Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“Godforsaken isn’t a curse word,” he throws back. Preteens, god. He can’t believe she’s old enough to be sassing him about his language already, like he doesn’t already do 99% of his swearing inside his head. “Go back to texting your friends, I have to check your father for a concussion.” Derek’s still grinning at him, and Stiles narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What do you want.”

“Brent’s hurt,” Derek says. 

“Little weird that you’re happy about that, but okay,” Stiles says, shrugging while he looks over his shoulder at the playground to check on Harper and Nolan. “So?”

“So we don’t have a pitcher.”

He whips his head back around. “You said I wasn’t allowed to play on your team.”

“No pitcher, no game,” Derek says. “C’mon, Stiles. I thought you’d be happy. You’ve been ranting for weeks about how no one in this teeny tiny beer league can throw properly.”

“They can’t,” he says, standing up. “Give me five minutes? I gotta wait for Allison, she said she was on her way.”

“I can watch them,” Norah offers, and Stiles scoffs at her, looking pointedly at her phone.

“I think not,” he says. “We’d be down two kids the second you got distracted by Olivia sending you pictures of dresses for the school dance and talking about how Jake kissed her goodnight.”

“Dad!” Norah looks livid, and Stiles remembers too late that he’s not supposed to be eavesdropping on his daughter’s conversations. “That was _private_.”

“I’m like a safe,” he insists, scanning the playground again and looking over towards the trails Allison and the boys usually come down. “They’ll never get it out of me.”

He’s wearing Derek’s extra shirt—because of course he has one tucked into his bag, god forbid he has to go out to lunch afterwards with a spot of dirt on him—which in and of itself is not an usual occurrence, because Stiles is a thief and his husband’s clothes are more comfortable than his own. But now he’s wearing Derek’s shirt, which means he’s on the pitcher’s mound with _Hale_ written on his back for the first time, and he’s a little surprised by just how giddy that makes him feel.

It’s unfortunate that the feeling is being overridden by the sheer annoyance he feels at the guy in front of him.

“You ever pitched before?”

Stiles stares at him. “I have some experience,” he says flatly.

“You just gotta get it over the plate,” the guy says, and Derek nods next to him, looking solemn.

“Think you can handle it?”

Stiles snatches the ball from his hand and glares. “I don’t know, why don’t I toss a few warm-ups and we’ll see if my pitching is acceptable enough for your little—” Derek elbows him and he clamps his mouth closed. “I’ll be fine,” he says, flapping at Derek. “What are your signs?”

The guy looks at him—Stiles really should figure out his name—and frowns. “Just throw it down the middle if you can,” he says, and taps the brim of his cap before he jogs to the plate. 

Stiles takes a deep breath in and looks at Derek. “I swear to _God_ , you are going to regret this for as long as you live,” he says, and Derek laughs. “I played in the majors, Derek, the _majors_ , and my only direction is to _try_? I’m going to strike every one of these—”

“Go easy on them,” Derek says, rolling his eyes and shutting him up with a quick kiss. “We play for fun, not to humiliate.”

He rubs his thumb against the seam of the ball and sighs. “Fine. Christ. Scott would have a heart attack—wait, can Scott catch? Can we just get rid of that guy and get Scott out here?” Derek raises an eyebrow and he sighs. “Fine. _Fine_. You’re the worst and I hate you.”

Derek’s already jogging away. “Just throw the damn ball, Stiles.”

So he does—dead center and and low velocity, a series of perfect, beautiful, easy-to-hit pitches—until Derek pulls him down onto his lap in the dugout in the bottom of the inning and reminds him that just because he doesn’t want Stiles to humiliate the other team doesn’t mean he wants to _lose_.

“And it was like, zoom, zoom, zoom, you’re out!” Nolan hollers, punching into the air with a grin as he keeps his grip on Derek’s neck with one arm. “You were so good!”

Harper’s hand grabs onto his and she swings their arms back and forth, looking up at him with her gap-toothed grin behind her new braces. “We all cheered for you, Dad,” she says, and shoots a guilty look at Derek. “Both of you!”

Stiles bites on his lip so he doesn’t laugh—the kids got tired of cheering for Derek two weeks into the season and they both know it, but the younger ones had faithfully stood by the dugout and cheered as he pitched for the whole game. It’d been a little surreal to hear his children yelling his name, and he blames Derek for getting sappy in his old age because he’d caught himself thinking that it meant much more than crowds at Citi Field ever had when Scott started musing about joining the team himself.

“Dad did a great job,” Derek says, giving him a soft smile. “I think we should let him choose where we go for lunch today.”

“Oh _no_ that means he’s gonna make us eat hamburgers _again_ ,” Norah complains, tugging at the end of one of her braids. “I wanted sushi.”

“You are not a normal child,” Stiles says, and she sticks her tongue out at him. “I’d been thinking Italian, but maybe if someone promises to take over dish duty tonight—”

“Nolan will do it!” Norah says brightly. “Can we go to Katsuei? I wanted to do omakase.”

“Yeah! I’ll do the knives!” Nolan says enthusiastically, and Stiles reaches out to press his hand against Nolan’s back as he tilts backwards wildly, Derek’s arm reaching around to brace him at the same time. 

“You will not,” Derek says. “But your sister can—without the promise of sushi—as she so nicely volunteered you.”

Stiles squeezes Harper’s hand as Norah starts arguing with Derek and leans down to whisper to her. “Sushi good with you, Boo?”

“Can we get ice cream after? Just you and me?” she whispers back, and makes a kissy face at him when he nods. “Okay. Sushi’s fine. But tell Norah that it’s hamburgers the whole way there.”

“Hamburgers it is,” he says loudly, winking at her when Norah breaks off halfway through her sentence to complain at him. 

“Boo and I are gonna head to the art supply shop,” he says after they’ve survived another meal outside of the house with three unruly children. Well—one. One unruly child, who unfortunately is at least twice the disaster that Stiles was as a child. Norah is the picture of perfection at restaurants—fussy, judgemental perfection—and Stiles can literally count on one hand the number of times Harper has acted out in public, and almost all of those happened when she was a toddler. He’d apparently said too often that he needed one of their kids to take after him, and karma had sure delivered. “Anyone want to join us?”

Derek gives him a suspicious look and Stiles grins at him over the sound of Norah and Nolan quickly turning the offer down. “I’ll take these two home,” he says, and when he leans in he whispers “you better bring me back something sweet,” before he slips a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and kisses him. 

“I got your back, babe,” Stiles murmurs, kissing him again and stepping back. “Hey, wait—can I have your sweater? It’s freezing. I still can’t believe your team plays in the fucking winter.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but he unzips the hoodie and hands it over. “It’s spring, Stiles. I thought you of all people would know when baseball was played.”

“Hey, spring is next week, my complaints are valid,” Stiles says, dropping Harper’s hand to pull it on, still warmed from Derek’s body heat. “Thanks, big guy. We’ll see you guys at home.”

“Were you really good, Daddy?” Harper asks, clutching her strawberry ice cream cone tightly with one hand as she tucks the other into his hoodie pocket. “When you played baseball?”

“Better than Uncle Isaac,” he says, grinning down at her.

“Even better than Uncle Jackson? Because he told me he was the best _ever_.”

He wrinkles his nose up and sighs. “He wins _one_ World Series, I swear to God—we played different positions so it’s hard to judge, okay? It’d be like asking who’s better, Degas or Pollock. Jackson couldn’t pitch an inning to save his life, but he was better at batting, and he played for a lot longer than I did so if he tells you he won more awards, he did, but he also played twice as long as I did so tell him that his awards mean nothing.”

Harper laughs and holds up her ice cream for him to lick. “Why did he play longer? Because he was better?”

He clutches his heart as she laughs harder, giving her a wounded look. “I am _hurt_ , Harper Rey. I’m telling on you when we get home. _No_ , he didn’t play for longer because he was better, jeez, I just said he wasn’t. I stopped playing when Nono was born because I didn’t want to be far away from her and your dad, and then you were born and I would have rather died than not look at your cute face every day.”

Harper nods like she understands, like she knows Stiles took one look at the ultrasound Derek had held out to him all those years ago and fell so hard in love that he couldn’t bear the thought of ever being away from her. He thinks Harper was always meant to be his favorite kid; the one who’s most like Derek, the one who clings to him most even now. “Yeah, and you couldn’t leave Nolan because he gets into too many accidents,” she says, and he laughs. “Auntie Allison said today she wishes she had a little girl because I’m so sweet, and Uncle Scott made a tired face and said he could just steal me but I said no because I would miss you and Dad.”

“Good girl,” he says, sliding his free hand in his pocket to link with hers and squeezing. “Uncle Scott and I are gonna have words.”

“Maybe we should send him Nono as a punishment,” Harper says, grinning. “Are you and Dad gonna have another kid?” He doesn’t realize he makes a face, but she lets out a squeal and points at him with her ice cream cone. “That’s the face Uncle Scott made!”

“Hide me, Derek, help,” Stiles says, skidding into the kitchen and grabbing Derek, ducking behind him just before Nolan comes crashing through the kitchen with a battle cry. 

“Slow down,” Derek calls, and turns to Stiles with an unimpressed look. “Are you hiding from your child, Stiles?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, squinting at Derek. Maybe he needs his hearing checked, or he got a concussion when he got tagged out at the plate during the game—Stiles had thought it was pretty obvious he was hiding from his child given that ‘hide me’ had been the first words out of his mouth.

“Why?”

“Have you seen him?” Stiles demands, waving a hand at the trail of Nerf darts strewn throughout the kitchen and dining room. “He’s insane. He hit me in the cheek with one of those things.”

Derek shakes his head and, with one hand on Stiles’ hip, pushes him gently to the side so he can open the pantry door. “So take the gun away from him,” he says. “Or push him in Norah’s direction and let her do the dirty work.”

It’s not a bad idea, he thinks. Norah’s much more of an enforcer than he is, and he’s pretty sure she’s in the backyard with her camera—all he’d have to do is slide the door open. He shrugs and hops up on the counter, snagging one of the red pepper slices on the cutting board and popping it in his mouth before Derek can tell him not to. “Take him running with you tonight,” he begs, because honestly, the kid has way too much energy. “Boo asked if we were gonna have another one, can you believe it? Can you _imagine_ it, throwing a baby to these wolves?”

It’s a mistake. Derek looks at him, but Stiles can tell when his gaze goes a little unfocused, and when the corner of his mouth tugs up into a smile, Stiles grabs for the sponge on the sink and throws it at him. “No. Bad Derek. No more kids.”

“They were sweet as babies,” Derek says, glancing at him and smiling. “Don’t you miss it?”

“ _No_ ,” he says, trying to decide if the feeling in his chest is hysteria or horror. “No, I—no. Derek. _Derek_. I am forty-three years old—quit smiling like that, god damn it, we are not—Derek!”

Nolan’s brown eyes are wide as he lets go of the monkey bars and flips upside down, swinging from just his knees, and Stiles snaps a picture as Nolan lets out a whoop. “Adrian showed me how to drop from here, okay Dad? Are you ready? Take a video for Grandpa.”

Derek’s going to kill him if he brings home a kid with a broken arm—again—but Stiles doesn’t feel so far removed from being a reckless six year old sometimes, unafraid to fail with a confidence that comes from knowing nothing can knock you down—so he gives Nolan the thumbs up and watches as he starts swinging his upper body until his knees leave the bar and he lands on the ground in a heap.

“You okay, buddy?”

“Fine!” Nolan says, scrambling up and raising his arms over his head, shaking the wood chips off his sweater before he races back to the steps. “I’m gonna try again!”

It takes him seven attempts, but he finally sticks a wobbly landing, shouting with glee when his feet hit the ground. Stiles can’t tell if he was always going to fall over or if he threw himself forward in his excitement, but it doesn’t matter. He sends the video to his dad, then drops it in his group chat with Scott and Jackson, and shoves his phone in his pocket. 

“You want me to teach you how to do it?”

“Pretty sure I’m at the age where I’d break a bone just trying to sit on top of those,” he says, eyeing the monkey bars warily. “I think it needs some pillows. Doesn’t look too comfortable.”

Nolan’s eyes light up. “Yeah! They should make this whole playground with pillows, and then you could climb all the way up and just—” he gives a loud yell and jumps off the platform, crashing to the ground. 

It makes Stiles’ entire body hurt to see it. “You get ten more minutes,” he says, and when he glances around, he sees the swings are finally unoccupied. “Hey—race you to the swings. Whoever can jump off them furthest wins hot cocoa.”

“Change of plans,” Derek says that night as he crawls in bed, squinting at his phone. “Claire isn’t feeling well and wants to know if we can pick up Kathryn tomorrow for hockey.”

Stiles groans and rolls over, slipping one arm around Derek’s waist as he burrows into his side. “Crap. Text Allison and tell her we need her to pick up Nolan in the morning for baseball; Harper’s been excited about this gallery thing and she’ll give us the sad eyes if she can’t go and then I’ll feel like shit. You wanna take her or Norah?”

“Doesn’t matter, but we both know what the girls would prefer,” Derek says, tapping on his phone for another moment before setting it on the bedside table. Stiles lifts his head as Derek slides an arm underneath him, then rolls them over until he’s pressed on top of Stiles, head dipping down to kiss him.

Stiles kisses him back, but puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder and pulls away when he starts trying to coax his mouth open. “Derek. Tell me you don’t want another kid.”

Derek snorts softly and shakes his head. “They _were_ sweet babies,” he says, “but they already outnumber us and I don’t think we need to make the ratio worse. Why?”

“Was gonna withhold sex if you did,” Stiles says, kneeing Derek in the thigh when he laughs, but pulling him down by the back of the neck to kiss him quickly afterwards. “Good thing you passed the test.”

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable tumblr link](https://elisela.tumblr.com/post/641749460321501184/saturday-morning-elisela-teen-wolf-tv)


End file.
